


sometimes, i can't believe you're real

by venetum



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Finals Week Stress, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Mentions of Anxiety, Oral Sex, Ridiculously fluffy, Smut, Very little actual plot, bellamy and clarke are massive over achievers, just soft smut, stress/comfort, un-betaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28119801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venetum/pseuds/venetum
Summary: in which the only way Clarke and Bellamy will take care of themselves is by being tricked into thinking they’re taking care of each other first.or: Bellamy and Clarke are super stressed about finals week and take a little break to unwind.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 110





	sometimes, i can't believe you're real

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic was supposed to be a fluffy little piece for my friend V, who's currently drowning in finals week stress, but it kind of snowballed into this fluffy smutty... something?
> 
> bellamy and clarke are just disasters who need a break in this one.
> 
> enjoy!

Clarke has never been fond of finals week. No matter how confident she feels about the subject matter for any of her classes, it’s almost inevitable for her brain to convince itself that she’s bound to fail; the hours spent poring over content useless in the face of her sometimes crippling anxiety.

Couple that with the immense pressure put on Clarke by her mother, who staunchly refused to pay for Clarke to retake classes and seemed to only value grades higher than B’s, left Clarke well and truly drowning under the pressure of her two majors.

She has always been known in her group of friends for having the most convoluted finals routine, one that involved copious amounts of caffeine and days on end without sleep, holed up in her little apartment alone with nothing to distract her but pages and pages of notes interspersed with various art projects. She was rarely known to come up for air earlier than the end of finals, eating and sleeping a secondary priority in the face of maintaining her perfect GPA.

As with most things that have transpired since she moved in with her boyfriend, Bellamy, over the summer, however, Clarke anticipates that finals week will be looking very different this semester.

Clarke and Bellamy tend to complement each other in the things that matter most, Bellamy’s passionate bullheadedness tempered by Clarke’s cool and analytical presence. But if there is one thing that the two absolutely have in common, it is their tendency to get inside their heads and allow the anxiety and pressure of finals week to chew away at them, ridding them of any and all reason and pushing them as hard as humanly possible (and maybe even then some) to ensure they end their semesters as best they can.

In the two finals weeks that have passed in the time the two have been together, they have managed to give each other a fair amount of space, disappearing into their own corners of campus for the duration of the week, rarely communicating and making up for lost time once the last exam had been turned in.

Clarke is well aware that this system is, by no means, perfect, but it is definitely effective, and she’s never really had to think about it too closely before. It’s only when she gets the chance to actually observe Bellamy during this time, in the midst of his third breakdown of the week, his desk a mess of papers and screens and even a broken pencil or two (an image Clarke is sure only barely reflects the chaos that is her boyfriend’s mind), that she realizes how detrimental this system has been to their mental health. And, although every single bone in Clarke’s body is screaming at her to avert her eyes and return to her own spiral into insanity, cursor blinking furiously up at her where she had stopped summarizing her notes, she forces herself to push the lid of her laptop shut.

They’re both in desperate need of a break, she realizes, and surely Bellamy’s constant studying over the last three days has put him in a good enough spot that he can afford to take one with her.

She walks over to him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders so as to startle him too much.

“Hey Bell,” she murmurs, bending down to nuzzle her cheek into his hair. “You got a minute?”

Bellamy leans into her touch, sighing.

“Not really.”

He lets out a quiet groan as Clarke’s fingers dig into his shoulders, kneading out the tension that had accumulated from being hunched over his desk for days on end. Clarke suppresses a sigh herself, realizing that convincing Bellamy to take a break was going to be much harder than she had anticipated.

Her hands still a couple of minutes later, concluding that she might have to appeal to the side of Bellamy that couldn’t help but want to take care of other people in an effort to get him to take care of himself.

Planting another kiss to his forehead, Clarke straightens and makes a show of stretching, extending her arms above her head as far as they’ll go and relishing in the feeling of her shoulders cracking slightly, her muscles practically screaming in relief. She lets out an exaggerated yawn, turning away from Bellamy and making her way towards the door that leads to their bedroom.

One hand placed on the doorknob, she turns back, pleased to see that Bellamy’s gaze has been trained on her the entire time.

“Well, I, personally, am in dire need of a nap. I was going to ask you to join me, but…” she trails off, pushing the door to the bedroom open. “It’s probably best you get your work done instead.”

She pushes the door shut without waiting to gauge his reaction. She might as well get comfortable while she waits for him. It’ll only be a matter of minutes now, after all.

* * *

Bellamy Blake has never enjoyed finals week. He supposes he should be used to them by now, a necessary evil he has had to face twice a year for almost ten years. But the pressure of maintaining his GPA, first in high school—the only conceivable way for him to escape the hell that had been his childhood so that Octavia could have more than he'd ever had—and then in college, where the existence of his scholarship had never quite felt real.

Logically, he knows he has less to worry about now. O is self-sufficient, a personal trainer at one of the gyms her boyfriend Lincoln owns (a fact Bellamy’s only recently come to terms with.) Bellamy himself is midway through grad school, his position in the program more secure than his traitorous brain has ever been willing to admit it is. And yet, every time this dreadful week comes around, he feels himself regressing, overcome by the age-old fear of failure.

He knows Clarke is no different. While her reasons may differ from his, there is no denying that her self-destructive behavior during this time in the semester very closely mirrors his. It had been easier not to worry about her when they were living apart, of course. Easy to simply hole up in a secluded corner of campus and forget about real life for a little while.

It’s this instinct of his, this incessant need he has to protect and serve the people he loves, that allows him to rise from his seat at his desk and make his way into his bedroom, knowing Clarke won’t be able to fully relax without him. (And, honestly, the prospect of taking a nap with his girlfriend is impossible to resist much longer.)

Pushing the door to their bedroom open, he takes a moment to simply  _ look _ at her—his princess tucked underneath the covers, the champagne hue of her hair forming a halo around her head. The slightest hint of skin peeks out from underneath his old football jersey, his last name emblazoned across her shoulder blades.

Ridding himself of his jeans and t-shirt in favor of a pair of soft, worn pajama pants, he slips under the covers carefully, not wanting to draw Clarke out of the peace he so desperately craves himself. Clarke gravitates towards him almost instantaneously, arms slipping around him and face nuzzling into his neck.

“Bell,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the base of his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

He knows exactly what she means. They’ve been around each other nearly every waking moment in the past fortnight but he couldn’t remember the last time they’d actually spent time together, doing nothing of importance and simply focusing on each other.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he whispers back, pulling her closer to him, hands running up and down her back to soothe her. “It’s been a hard month.”

A sigh escapes Clarke's lips at his touch, another kiss pressed gently into his jaw in response.

“I know, I’m sorry, too. I should’ve noticed you needed a break sooner,” Clarke pulls away from him slightly, eyes glistening. “You work so hard, Bell. No one’s more prepared to get through the end of this semester than you are.”

Bellamy shifts his gaze upwards, unable to comprehend how Clarke can have so much faith in him. He’s almost certain he’s never heard those words from anyone else.

Clarke reaches up to touch his face, gently nudging him to meet her gaze once more.

“You  _ are _ ,” she insists, moving to sit atop him until they’re face to face, piercing blue eyes seemingly boring into his soul. “You’re the smartest, most dedicated person I know, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy huffs slightly, sliding his arms up her legs to rest on her waist.

“Is that so, Princess? I seem to remember you declaring you were the smartest person we know at that pub quiz last week,” he teases. He slips his hands underneath her shirt, the warmth of Clarke’s skin seeping into him.

“Well I’m  _ obviously  _ smarter than you, Bell, but we can’t be holding everyone up to my standard now, can we?” Clarke giggles. Bellamy feels the knot of anxiety that had been a constant fixture at the bottom of his stomach start to ease at the sound of her carefree laugh, allowing him to relax slightly.

It's overwhelming, sometimes, just how much he loves this woman.

“You make a good point,” he concedes, tugging her down so that she’s laying on top of him.

He catches her lips with his, taking a moment to simply savor the feel of her lips against his. He's not sure how he'll be able to go about his life normally if they were ever to break up - kissing Clarke has always felt like a religious experience, the plush smoothness of her lips coupled with the gentle sighs and soft moans that escape her when his lips travel down to her jaw enough to convince him of the existence of some higher power.

"Sometimes," he murmurs against the sensitive skin of her neck, lips tracing a blazing trail down to her collarbone, "I can't believe you're real."

She lets out a quiet whine when he hits a particularly sensitive spot at the base of her neck, one he knows drives her crazy even at the slightest touch, and brings her hands up to his hair, fingers gently scratching at his scalp.

"I can never bring myself to believe you're actually mine," he confesses, flipping them over so that he's on top of her now.

His lips leave her skin for but a moment, just long enough to slide his jersey over her head and toss it across the room, and his eyes light up in delight when he realizes she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.

"I  _ am _ yours, Bell," she assures him, attempting to pull him back down to her.

He reaches up to kiss her once more, deepening the kiss just enough to brush his tongue gently against hers, eliciting a shudder from Clarke. She tries to pull him closer to her but he resists.

He takes another moment just to take her in, his beautiful princess splayed out luxuriously in their bed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. His gaze travels down to her chest, perfect, pink nipples practically begging for attention, and reaches down to press a kiss to the top of her left breast.

"I still can't believe I get to wake up next to you every morning," he tells her, words pressed into the skin of her breasts in the form of gentle kisses. "But I feel like the luckiest man in the world when I do."

He can sense her opening her mouth to speak and latches his mouth to one of her nipples instead, running his tongue over it and sucking, rendering her effectively speechless. Her back arches slightly, pushing her chest into him.

"It's cliché, I know," he laughs, switching over to her other breast to give it some attention. "But I just can't help myself."

Once he's finally convinced he's given her chest enough attention, he moves further down her body, leaving a trail of kisses down the span of her torso. He toys with the waistband of her panties for a moment, tongue tracing a path from one of her hips to the other as he watches her squirm. He moves lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over her covered cunt, the fabric of her white panties practically see-through and slick with arousal.

"Bell," she moans, shifting underneath him in an effort to gain some friction, "please."

He finally gives in after another few moments of teasing, pulling her panties down and off her legs before pulling her closer to him, legs tossed over his shoulders for more access. He presses a searing kiss to her clit, Clarke keening at the contact. He remains there for a few moments, tongue laving against the bundle of nerves as Clarke whimpers, hands clawing at his shoulders. 

He moves on, tongue teasing the edges of her slit, desperate to taste more of her, the slight sting of Clarke’s nails digging into his shoulders only spurring him on further. He fucks his tongue into her, Clarke shuddering against him as he laps at her mercilessly, taking his time to relish in the taste of her, tangy and musky in a way he’d only ever associate with her. 

He knows she’s close when her legs begin to quake in earnest, thighs trapping him between them and the threat of suffocation imminent. 

_ This definitely wouldn’t be the worst way to go _ , he muses, moving one of his hands over to hold her down while he pushes two of his fingers into her pussy with the other. 

Clarke’s moans increase in frequency as traces his tongue over her clit, fingers pumping in and out of her and reducing her words to an unintelligible garble, of which Bellamy can distinctly make out the words “please” and “more.” 

“I’m—I’m close,” She manages to get out, back arched dangerously high as she grinds down onto Bellamy’s face.

He increases the pace of his tongue, his own hips rutting involuntarily into the bed as he works Clarke over the edge. 

Watching Clarke orgasm is magnificent, as always. He adores the way her entire body stiffens just as she’s on the precipice, adores the way a delicate flush creeps its way across her skin and her toes curl up as she finally lets go, slumping back against the mattress. 

He presses a gentle kiss to her thigh before raising his head to meet Clarke’s gaze. She stares back at him, eyes glazed over with desire and lips parted in amazement.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Clarke Griffin," he declares softly, reaching up to stroke her cheek.

It's like something inside of Clarke snaps, eyes widening in understanding. Her face splits into the most beautiful smile he's ever seen as she sits up slightly to bring their faces closer together.

"All you have to do is ask," she admits softly. "But I'm afraid you might be stuck with me, anyway."

With that, she brings their lips together once more, the blazing kiss coupled with Clarke's admission lighting a fire inside Bellamy he isn't sure he ever wants to be put out.

"I love you, Bellamy Blake," she tells him between kisses, voice laden with desire, and he's struck once more by just how reverently she says his name.

"I love you," he responds, kissing her with a renewed sense of urgency.

When was the last time they'd slept together? Bellamy can't remember, exactly, although that probably has something to do with Clarke's attempt to gain more friction, her cunt grinding desperately into his erection. Certainly not in the last week or two, given how ridiculously stressed the pair had been about their upcoming exams and assignments.

All he can truly comprehend right now is how desperately he needs to be inside her, to be as close to her as humanly possible.

He pauses for only as long as it takes to shove his pants down and out of the way, Clarke helping the process along and pushing the rather offensive article of clothing away with her feet. He lines himself up at her entrance, the tip of his cock grazing her clit and causing Clarke to shiver. 

He takes a moment to check that Clarke is still okay, receiving a quick nod from her in response. That’s all the assurance he needs. Pushing himself into her slowly, his arms almost give out at the blissful warmth of her snug cunt. 

He swears this feels like coming home. 

He remains still for a couple of seconds, allowing them to adjust to the sensations before he starts to move in slow, deep thrusts that have them both shuddering and panting with pleasure. 

“More,” Clarke whimpers into his ear, wrapping her legs around him in an attempt to take him deeper inside her. 

Bellamy’s more than happy to comply. 

He pulls her closer to him, increasing his pace and thrusting into her with increased force, eliciting a string of moans from Clarke, which only spur him on further. He leans down, biting gently on the spot right at the base of Clarke’s neck which he knows drives her crazy. 

He feels her cunt tighten, walls fluttering around him as he reaches down between them to rub her clit. 

“Come for me, Princess,” he murmurs as she whimpers quietly, right on the precipice of her second orgasm. 

She lets go with a soft sigh, her forehead pressed against his as she allows herself to ride out the high. Bellamy continues to thrust into her, prolonging her pleasure, his own orgasm barrelling its way through him like a freight train only a couple of moments later. 

He gives in with a groan, all but collapsing into Clarke as she runs her hands up and down his back gently. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispers, gentle kisses pressed into his forehead as he comes down from his high. 

Bellamy allows himself to bask in the warmth of her touch, the steady pressure of her fingers on his scalp and her hand on his back lulling him into a sort of peaceful contentment. 

“I told you you needed a break,” she teases softly, shifting them slightly so his weight is more evenly distributed. 

“I really did,” Bellamy agrees, pulling out and rolling over to lay next to her before wrapping his arms around her once more. 

“You still do,” she corrects him, nuzzling into his chest. “We can go back to studying in the morning.”

He murmurs in assent, eyelids already heavy and threatening to give out on him at any moment. 

“I think I can work with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Be sure to leave me a comment with your thoughts! Or come find me on [ Tumblr ](https://venetum.tumblr.com/) or [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/venetumx).


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